Prumano's Delivery Service
by A Lily By Any Other Name
Summary: Lovino Vargas and Gilbert Beilschmidt: high school losers by day, pizza delivery boys by night. (PruMano high school! AU)
1. Chapter 1

**A/N: So I'm attempting to write a multi-chapter fic again (we'll see how this one goes lol). Basically, I love the idea of a high school AU, and decided to incorporate it with my friend's idea of Romano working at a pizza. Now, combine that with out love of PruMano- Prussia and Romano, our resident jerks- and voila!: Prumano's Delivery Service was born. I hope you guys enjoy. I'm always open to reviews and suggestions, so please feel free to drop by my PM or add a comment. And now, without further ado, I present to you my first PruMano fanfiction...**

**Disclaimer: I do not own Hetalia**

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**Prumano's Delivery Service  
A Lily By Any Other Name**

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"Welcome to _Fetta di Roma. _May I take your order?"

Lovino popped a bubble with his gum as he stood at the register of his grandpa's pizza parlor. He watched lazily as his little brother Feliciano flitted around from booth to booth like a tomato fairy to check in on the clients of the small pizzeria. Lovino himself was in no hurry to pay attention to the guy ordering in front of him because this guy was taking forever to make up his damn mind. Indecisive idiots like these were why he hated being on register duty. He knew their pizza was good and all, but people honestly did _not _need to take five minutes to decide between the Margherita and a pizza topped with basil and tomatoes. Feliciano was better at doing all this socializing, but table duty was no fun either. Lovino would honestly rather be running deliveries in Grandpa's crap car, but since they were so busy, both brothers were needed in the restaurant itself.

"Um..." The guy- whom looked around his age and sported wire-framed glasses and a stupid-looking bomber jacket- at the register was squinting at the menu board as if it were written in a foreign language (well, it kind of _was, _but the prices were still in English, right?). "What's a calzone?"

Lovino sighed. People were so uncultured. Contrary to popular belief, Italian cuisine did not just consist of pizza and pasta.

"It's kind of a stuffed bread thing." Lovino attempted to explain. "Like a pizza, but with crust on the outside and toppings on the inside."

"Oh!" Bomber Jacket looked as if a light bulb of realization just went off in his tiny mind. "So, like an Italian HotPocket?"

"Sure." Lovino shrugged. "Is that what you want?"

"No, I want the meat-lover's pizza. Large. Hold the onions."

Lovino sighed as he wrote the order down on a slip of paper. They really needed to get a more modern system of conveying orders. Maybe Grandpa could invest in those screen things they had at the McDonalds down the block.

"Will that be all?"

"And three extra-large Cokes. One diet, though, since I'm kind of on a diet. Don't know if you can tell."

Lovino raised an eye brow at the cover boy of high school jocks, but drew three Styrofoam cups from their stack, and filled them all to the brim with the fizzy liquid from the soda fountain. He hoped this guy didn't want ice in his drink because no way was he splashing himself with Coke now.

"That'll be $20.58. The pizza will be ready in twenty minutes." Lovino felt as if the receipt he held in his hand was a script that he was reading from. "Will you be dining in or taking out?"

"Taking out." Bomber Jacket answered, balancing his drinks in his arms. "Hey, why is there take out when this isn't a Chinese food place?"

"Because." Lovino gritted his teeth. This guy was getting annoying. "We currently don't have a delivery service."

"Oh." Bomber Jacket blinked. "Well, you should get one." He paused, squinting his blue eyes behind his wire-framed glasses as if in thought. Lovino worried that if he thought too hard his brain would short circuit. Finally, Alfred seemed to remember how to speak again: "Don't you go to my school?"

Lovino blinked. Yeah... He knew this guy. His name was Alfred or something. Total jock and JROTC nerd. Probably failing his freshman math course. He hung out with that one Matthew kid whom was _definitely_ a pot head, and with that loud Danish kid in his ceramics class. He was also friends with the resident drug dealer- Abel what's-his-face- and occasionally talked to Feli. Lovino remembered having a few classes with him in his sophomore year. Hilariously enough, the guy didn't remember him even after he probably copied off him all semester long in biology.

"Yeah." Lovino nodded. "I'm a senior."

"Really?" Alfred- that was his name, right?- sounded surprised. "Me too! I've never seen you around, dude. What's your name?"

"Lovino Vargas." He stated flatly. "I used to sit next to you in tenth grade biology."

"Oh." Bomber Jacket blinked. "Well, I don't really remember you. So you work here, huh?"

"Yeah..." Lovino frowned. Suddenly, he realized there was a line behind Alfred/Bomber Jacket. "It's my grandpa's place. Is there anything wrong with that?"

"No, not at all, dude!" Alfred/Bomber Jacket had yet to realize he was holding up the line, and continued to amiably chat with him as if they'd been friends their whole lives. "It's kinda cool, actually, and you guys make awesome pizza. My name is Alfred, by the way. Alfred. F Jones."

"Yeah, cool." Lovino noticed the line behind him was getting impatient. "There's a line behind you-"

Suddenly, someone outside banged on their car horn, startling all the clients. A crap car that looked even more crap than Grandpa's crap car pulled up outside the pizzeria. The dark green paint was peeling, and the tires had those spike hoops. A cross necklace- not a rosary- hung on the mirror. Lovino was ninety nine percent sure the inside smelled like sex and weed. Two guys that looked to be his age were sitting inside. The driver had silvery hair, strange red eyes, and wore a black t-shirt with some sort of band name on it. Lovino couldn't see much of the guy in the passenger seat save for a mop of unruly blonde hair that reminded him of the broom they used to sweep the parlor with.

But worst of all was the music.

So.

Damn.

Loud.

Lovino had ninety-nine problems with Iggy Azalea, and the jerk bastards blasting her music were every one of them.

The driver yelled something unintelligible that sounded like "Where's the food, I'm starving", but Lovino dismissed it. He could already see some of the customers looking uncomfortable. No one wanted to eat at a place where wannabe-thug teenagers hung out.

"Those are my friends that just pulled up." Alfred sounded _proud _of recognizing that car. "They're kinda waiting for me, so is that pizza ready yet?"

_Fortunately, _Lovino thought as he grabbed the box teetering on the rack below the kitchen window. It was hot from the just-out-of-the oven pizza inside, and so Lovino handed it with care. But in reality, he wanted to throw the box at Alfred as he watched the little old lady in line behind the jock leave.

"Here." He slid the box towards Alfred. "Your pizza's done. Tell your friends to turn their music down before pulling up here. Jerk."

"Thanks, bro!" Alfred beamed at him as if Lovino's snarky remark had flown completely out of the ballpark. "I'll see you at school, 'kay?"

_No. _

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**A/N: Reviews are welcome? Plus, check out my other stories, guys. I wrote a bunch of historical! Hetalia one-shots over winter break, and uploaded them on here. **


	2. Chapter 2

**A/N: Here it is! Chapter two! I'm on a roll here.**

**Disclaimer: I do not own Hetalia.**

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**Prumano's Delivery Service  
A Lily By Any Other Name**

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"Hurry up, Feli, we're going to be late for school!"

Lovino sent a glare towards the bedroom door one last time before dragging himself down the hall, past the kitchen, and to the front door of the apartment. Feliciano had approximately five minutes before the yellow school bus rolled up at their stop, and left them behind if they weren't there. He didn't quite know _why _his brother took so long to shower in the mornings. Lovino could wash and dry his hair in under fifteen minutes, but it took Feliciano about twenty-five.

"I'm coming, _fratello, _I'm coming!"

The sound of hurried feet thumping against the floor echoed around the small three-bedroom apartment. Their neighbor downstairs, some crotchety old lady with three cats, would be sure to yell at them as they passed by her floor on their way to the bus stop. She did it every morning because apparently the "lousy teens" woke her with their "obscene running". Feliciano shrugged his backpack over his shoulder as the two attempted to silently make their way down to the bus stop. In addition to having a bitter neighbor, their grandfather wasn't one to rouse before the shop opened up for business.

The brothers caught the bus just as it pulled up at the curb. Lovino practically pushed his little brother into the first empty seat available considering the bus driver was sending glares at them through the mirror for being too choosy about their seat. The bus ride was silent save for some idiots blasting music in the back. With a grunt, Lovino dug around the front pocket of his backpack for his headphones. It was too dark and too early to be listening to somebody else's loud music. It was also much too early from public transport—but, hey—guess who didn't have a car. Lovino took Driver's Ed during his freshman year, got his license his sophomore year, and hadn't been able to drive since. Sure, Grandpa had a car, but Lovino valued his life too much to drive the ancient thing. He considered saving up all his paychecks to buy a car—even a used one from 2001—but then realized that college was more important. Grandpa wouldn't let him refuse a paycheck—despite working at his pizzeria—and insisted Lovino put it towards his education.

"Psst, Lovi."

Lovino pulled out one of his headphones. His brother was tapping him on the shoulder.

"What?" He whispered. "What is it?"

"Can I use your headphones when you're done? I left mine at home."

"No!" He hissed. "I'm listening to music—"

"Just one song, _fratello—"_

"We're almost at school!"

"We are?"

Oh, poor freshman Feli. By the second week of _his _freshman year, Lovino had already memorized the school—and the bus route to school—by heart. Maybe it was because then, three years ago, he hadn't the duty of making sure his downright sparkly little brother didn't get lost or beat up. Feliciano was a bit of an easy target: he was too friendly, too naïve, and a theater nerd. The middle school wannabe's that became the high school jocks over the summer picked on him throughout the duration of the seventh and eighth grades. That, however, wouldn't be happening here because Lovino was _not _going to let his brother become the prey to the dumb packs of lions that prowled the school. No, only _he _could make fun of Feliciano; no one else was granted that privilege.

The bus made an abrupt stop in the parking lot, and nearly threw Lovino into the seat in front of him. Feliciano prodded him to get up, but his big brother was currently struggling with picking up his notebooks from the disgusting bus floor. The main compartment of his backpack was gaping, and the bus driver's failure to make a safe stop sent all of Lovino's school things flying into the oblivion that was the floor of a public school bus. Lovino groaned as he reached for his history binder. To his dismay, all the papers inside were strewn all over the bus.

"Lovino, hurry up!" Feliciano hissed. "The bus driver is giving us a dirty look through the mirror!"

"So?" Lovino scoffed as he salvaged last night's homework from underneath the adjacent seat. There was a giant foot print smack-dab in the center from where some moron had trampled it on their way off the bus. "I'm not the one who puts the lives of children in danger by slamming on the brakes like some sort of wannabe NASCAR star."

"Loviiiiiiiii." Feliciano whined. "Come onnnnn. I have friends I want to talk to."

"Fine, fine."

Lovino wiped his disease-ridden hands off on the bus seat (no way he was wiping them off on his new pants), and shouldered his now-closed bag with a final look at the tragedy before him. They rode the same bus in the afternoon. Hopefully the bus driver was less of a jerk than he assumed, and didn't toss the rest of his papers into a recycling bin.

The bus driver closed the bus doors so fast after they got off that Lovino was sure his shirt might have gotten caught in the process. Then, as quickly as it arrived, the bus sped out of the parking lot as if it couldn't stand being around teenagers any longer. Same. But, in all honesty, good riddance.

He could never understand how people could be so social in the morning. Feliciano ditched him for a group of what Lovino could only deem as hipster theater kids as soon as they stepped into the building. Again: good riddance. Lovino popped in his earbuds, turned the volume up on his iPod, and sauntered towards his first period class. He was always the first one in the class—often times there before the teacher—but not because he was eager to learn some European history at the crack of dawn; Lovino made it a rule to not speak to people before eight AM. By that time, most of the drowsiness had left his system in the form of heavy note-taking and lecture listening. That was the downside of taking so many AP classes, he supposed: all work, no play.

Class commenced with the bell. Lovino was the first one done with the warm-up on the board, and was now taking the time to organize his notes.

Except all of them were gone.

It was then Lovino decided his day couldn't possibly get worse, but the sauntering, white-haired, red-eyed menace that plopped down in the empty desk next to him seemed to think differently.

"Psst."

Lovino looked up from his forlorn notebook. The kid in the once-empty seat adjacent to his looked familiar. Lovino raised an eyebrow.

"What do you do in this class?" The guy asked in what Lovino would call a whisper if it wasn't so loud. "My counselor just kinda signed me up because it was the only class with an empty desk. Do we just take notes, or something?"

"What are you?" Lovino scoffed as the teacher started going over the warm-up. "New?"

"Yeah! I'm Gilbert Beilschmidt, but you can call me Prussia."

_Prussia?_

It was then Lovino knew where he recognized him from. Just hearing his voice made Lovino think of that crap car, and Iggy Azalea, and a large meat lover's pizza with no onions. Lovino wouldn't think Gilbert Beilschmidt—sorry, _Prussia _(?)—was a new student considering he'd already found himself a niche with two of the stupidest people he happened to know of.

"Why would I call you that?" Lovino rolled his eyes. "Do you even know where Prussia is?"

"Duh, it's where Germany is today!" Gilbert Beilschmidt grinned. "Oh, and my Xbox Live username is 'kingofprussia'. I met all my friends here through Halo, so that's why I'm not an award loner."

He laughed, much to Lovino's (and his teacher's) chagrin. Lovino noticed that everyone was getting ready to take notes.

"Plus, my family is German." Gilbert Beilschmidt kept on talking as if Lovino was still paying attention. "But we can trace our heritage all the way back to the Kaisers of Prussia. I feel like the nickname suits me, y'know, because it just sounds so awesome. And accurate. Hey, can I see your notes after class?"

Lovino hoped these seats weren't permanent.

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**A/N: Reviews are awesome like Prussia! Thanks to those that have subscribed and commented on chapter one! I'll try to update on a schedule, but I can't promise anything since I actually have classes to pass at school. **


	3. Chapter 3

**A/N: Sorry for the wait, guys, but I've been soooooo busy lately. This is the time of the school year where I promise I'm gonna get straight A's, but that resolution, sadly, never actually happens. This year, however, will be different. So that's why this chapter will seem short in comparison. I promise some longer and better ones later. **

**Disclaimer: I do not own Hetalia.**

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**Prumano's Delivery Service  
A Lily By Any Other Name**

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**Chapter Three**

Gilbert Beilschmidt, as it turned out, was only in one of Lovino's classes. But in that one period they had to sit next to each other, Gilbert Beilschmidt seemed to be under the notion that they were now best friends. While Lovino fervently wrote notes till his hand started to cramp, Gilbert Beilschmidt chatted aimlessly in the seat next to him. Lovino tried hard not to listen to him, but it was practically impossible when he launched into the epic of his life. From what Lovino could figure out, Gilbert Beilschmidt moved from some backwater town in Pennsylvania named King of Prussia (?) with his grandfather and younger brother. He liked birds. He had a pet bird. Actually, he had several pet birds. But most of them died.

Gilbert Beilschmidt, for the most part, was not an interesting person. Lovino was partially hoping he had some cool, ironically tragic backstory to compensate for his screechy voice and his irritating personality.

Lovino was ready to stab his eye out with his pen by the time the bell rung. He slung his backpack over his shoulder, stuffed his pen in his pocket, and bolted out the door to his next class.

Gilbert Beilschmidt stayed behind to talk to the teacher about the Teutonic Knights.

For the next hour and a half or so, Lovino diligently immersed himself in classwork. On his way out of English, he caught sight of a waving Feliciano standing outside the choir room. Lovino didn't wave back.

High school cafeterias were the places of nightmares. They smelled like prison mess halls, they were loud with the shouts of damned high-schoolers, and the Formica tables were almost _never _clean. The sempiternal scent of imitation cheese and spoiled green beans hung over the place like a big, dark raincloud, and there was hardly ever a place to sit. Lovino walked outside, to the courtyard, and sat down in his usual spot: a bench residing as far away as possible from the rest of the picnic tables. He liked always being one of the first people out in the courtyard. That way, no unsuspecting freshmen could take his seat.

But before it could be said that Lovino Vargas was a cruel, dick-ish, egoistic upperclassman, he would for sure let his trashy little brother sit with him if they shared the same lunch.

Feliciano, however, didn't seem to be in need of friends to sit with. Every day on the bus, he would talk about all his new friends from theater in choir. Lovino knew about his cross-dressing Polish friend from fashion merch, the young-master musical prodigy who claimed to be descended from Mozart (though Lovino doubted that stick-up-his ass senior was actually _friends _with Feliciano), and the pretty Hungarian exchange student whom could apparently bench press more than the boys in weight lifting.

And then there was—in Feliciano's own words—the "beautiful-blonde-smart boy" in his English class.

Lovino took a bite of his sandwich as he started on his statistics homework. The bread was a bit crusty from having sat in his brown paper lunch sack for four hours, but it was otherwise fluffy and tasteful. Though Lovino could throw down in the kitchen as much as Feliciano or Grandpa could, he was glad Feli took time out of his busy mornings to pack lunches for both of them.

Then, as he looked up from his homework, he spotted _him. _

Fan-fucking-tastic.

Gilbert Beilschmidt was in his lunch.

The albino—if that was what he was—was sitting at one of the picnic tables with a group of boys. With a slice of cafeteria pizza in one hand and a Capri Sun in the other, he gesticulated every once in a while as if in the middle of telling a wild story. The boys he sat with—one blonde and the other brunette—seemed vaguely interested in what he was saying; the blonde one kept checking out passing girls, and the brunette was absently strumming a guitar (?). Lovino quickly returned his attention back to his work as Gilbert Beilschmidt seemed to glance in his direction.

Little did he know that Gilbert Beilschmidt—and the two boys he sat with—were in his next class.

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"Boys, we are starting up a delivery service."

Lovino looked up from his phone. His grandfather had just strolled into the living room, positioning himself strategically in front of the television. He seemed really pleased with himself.

"So we get to deliver pizzas?" Feliciano, whom was sitting on the other end of the couch, asked excitedly. "Like a real pizza place?"

"Sure." Grandpa beamed. "We're—"

"I wanna do it!" Feliciano shot up out of his seat like a spring. "Like, I love talking to customers and all, but I _really _want to drive around town like the Domino's delivery boys! We can even get cool uniforms so we look really put-together when we go to people's houses! I wanna do it, _nono. _Please?"

"Feli, you can't even drive." Lovino snorted. "Plus, you have to be eighteen to deliver."

"But we already don't get paid. And neither of us is eighteen."

"Which is why we're gonna start up interviews for potential employees!" Grandpa announced. He was almost as excited as Feliciano. "You're both on interview duty as of tomorrow. Try not to hire anyone stupid, okay?"

Lovino went back to his phone with another snort.

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**A/N: Next chapter will be in Gil's POV. Reviews are welcome!**


	4. Chapter 4

**A/N: What up, my lovelies? As promised, here is chapter four. Chapter five will be... The interview! (And no, not the movie sorry)**

**Disclaimer: I do not own Hetalia**

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**Prumano's Delivery Service  
A Lily By Any Other Name**

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**Chapter Four**

"Does this bowtie look straight to you?"

Gilbert turned around towards his younger brother, Ludwig. The little nerd looked up from his math—sorry, his _calculus_—homework. Gil felt like one of his brother's math equations as the latter's piercing blue eyes surveyed him up and down. The older boy waited for the verdict impatiently, bouncing up and down on his heels.

"…Why are you wearing a bowtie?" Ludwig finally decided, raising an eyebrow.

"Why _wouldn't _I be wearing a bowtie?" Gilbert retorted with a scoff as he pivoted back towards the bedroom mirror. He was a fool to ask his little brother for fashion advice. "It looks professional, Lud, that's why. I _need _to look professional for this interview."

"You're applying for a job as a pizza delivery boy."

"Yeah, and there will probably be other applicants there." Gil explained. For such a math genius or whatever, Ludwig had a hard time understanding his big brother's abstract thinking. "Other applicants who _won't _be looking as snazzy as I do in this bowtie."

The bowtie in question was one Gilbert had stumbled upon while shopping on Amazon. It was black, covered in little yellow birds, and 50% off with free shipping. He'd dubbed it his "lucky bowtie" despite never having used it till today. Ludwig went back to his textbook with a shrug. Gilbert watched as his brother tapped his pencil against his chin while he stared at his work; his pale brows met in a furrow, and his blue eyes narrowed considerably as he thought. Lud was a pretty decent-looking kid. He'd probably get more handsome as the years progressed, but—as everyone knows—the older brothers are always the hottest.

"Well." Gilbert poked his brother as he headed out the bedroom door. "Wish me luck, kid."

Lud only gave him a mildly offended look—"I'm not a _kid, _Gilbert, I'm _taller _than you"—as he closed the door behind him. Gilbert reached into the pocket of his pants, and pulled out his keys as he descended the stairwell of their apartment complex two steps at a time. His car, his awesome '00 Honda Civic, was parked all the way out by the pool as their allotted parking space was designated for grandpa's car.

As soon as he found himself in the driver's seat, Gilbert turned on his speakers. He was suddenly met with the very loud, very obnoxious sound of Iggy Azalea's slightly-new, one-hit-wonder single that had been playing on the radio for the better half of last year. Frowning, he pulled out a sleek, black iPod mini from his speaker dock. The iPod clearly wasn't his because he didn't have a terrible taste in music, nor did he leave his valuables in a friend's car. He shoved the iPod in his pocket, reminding himself to give it to Alfred in weight lifting tomorrow, and plugged his phone in.

The bass line of some Gorillaz song blasted through his speakers as Gilbert pulled out of his complex and on to the road. He tapped his foot against the brake pedal as he waited for the stoplight between the Walgreens and the CVS to turn green. Finally, he pulled up at the small pizzeria wedged between a craft store and a bakery. He stuffed his phone in his pocket, opened the driver's door, climbed out, locked his car, took a deep breath, and straightened his bow tie.

Oh, yeah.

He totally had this.

_Fetta di Roma _was surprisingly empty for noon. The tables were devoid of the usual clients—men and women in work clothes, and the occasional high school student on senior leave—that ate lunch there during the weekdays. Sure, it would fill up with take-out orders come the afternoon, but the place was too small to host a lunch rush. It was all the more reason why Gilbert decided to apply for the job of a delivery boy.

"Welcome to _Fetta di Roma, _may I—_Oh. You."_

The boy at the register was making a face at him. Gilbert recognized him from his European history class and from his physics class. He beamed, and sauntered over towards the register.

"Yo, Lovino, right?" He asked. "You work here?"

"What else does it look like, dumbass?"

His caustic, sarcastic tone didn't bother Gilbert. Hell, he'd be pissed too if he had to work a register. How stationary.

"So, who's gonna come out here and interview me?" He took a seat on the counter, making sure not to wrinkle the resume in his hand. Lovino visibly flinched. Gilbert laughed, and waved his paper in his face. "Because I was up all night writing this."

Lovino suddenly paled, his olive complexion lightening half a shade. Gilbert cocked his head in confusion.

"You're… _Applying?" _Lovino said it as if it were a curse word. "For a job… _Here?'_

"Well, duh." Gilbert snickered, hopping off the counter to face him. He mimicked: "What else does it look like, dumbass?"

"Don't fucking patronize me!" The dark-haired boy snapped viciously, his brows creasing and his cheeks turning red. "I'm gonna be the one in charge of your interview, asswipe!"

"Can you give me the job, then? Since we sit next to each other in first period?"

Lovino huffed at him, but Gilbert just laughed.

He was _totally _gonna get this job.

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**A/N: Reviews are appreciated! Check out my other stories, too, plz! :)**


	5. Chapter 5

**A/N: Oh my god it has been a literal ten years. I'm so sorry, but I'm actually picking this up again! Yay!  
**

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It pained Lovino to realize it, but Gilbert Beilschmidt would soon be his coworker. Though he'd been in charge of the interview process, _nono _ultimately got the last say in choosing a new employee. And _nono _only cared about three things—if they had a car ("yes, but—"), if he was eighteen ("yes, but—"), and if they didn't have a busy schedule ("yes, but—"). Lovino had tried his hardest to dissuade his grandfather from hiring Beilschmidt, but _nono _was convinced the guy was a hard worker who could handle doing deliveries on his own.

That following Monday in AP European history, Gilbert wouldn't stop bugging Lovino about it.

"Hey, Lovino!" He greeted from his seat when Lovino dragged himself through the door. "What's up, coworker?"

Lovino turned up the volume on his music, not even being subtle about the fact he didn't want to talk to him. He'd be doing enough of that soon, so of course he was trying to detach himself as much as possible from Gilbert "Prussia" Beilschmidt.

But the fucker just couldn't take a hint.

The teacher was allowing them to work in pairs to finish a work sheet. It was easy stuff, straight from the notes, on the Renaissance. Lovino had finished it alone in ten minutes, and was now trying to get ahead in AP American history. Gilbert, being the dumbass he is, must've thought seeing Lovino slave over a giant ass textbook was sad or something, and decided to interrupt him. Lovino looked up at the other boy with murder in his eyes and a freshly sharpened No. 2 pencil clutched in his hand like a knife.

"What?" He nearly snapped, tearing out one of his earbuds. "I'm trying to do homework, asshole."

"Yeah, I know, it looks like hell." Gilbert opinioned. For once, he wasn't wrong. "Can I see your worksheet?"

Before Lovino could agree, Gilbert just grabbed it off his desk and began copying. Lovino thought he should say something on how he couldn't do a measly worksheet by himself, but kept his big mouth shut and decided to go back to his chapter outline. There would be more opportunities to roast him, he knew. He shouldn't waste all his slays right now.

"So, like, is that a family business you run?"

Lovino hadn't even put his earbud back in when Gilbert assaulted him with another question. "Yes." He huffed, his eyes still glued to the textbook.

"Cool, cool. Does your brother work there too?"

Lovino set his pencil down, and narrowed his eyes at Gilbert. "How do you know I have a brother? Are you stalking me or something, you pervert?"

"Pfft, as if!" Gilbert cackled, sliding Lovino's worksheet back onto his desk. "You act as if I have time to stalk the likes of you!"

"But you have enough time for a job."

Gilbert blinked. Lovino smirked.

"Anyways," Gilbert continued. "Yeah, I know you have a brother because _my _brother won't shut up about him."

Sounds like Feli, Lovino wanted to say, but that would be a sign of amicability. Rather, he simply let Gilbert talk.

"Lud's always going on this one kid in his English class." The other boy continued. "The one everyone thought was a girl for the first two days of school. Like, the kid always partners up with him for everything which I guess is kinda good because Lud's a total scrub, but from what he tells me, it sounds like _your_ little brother has a crush on _my _little brother—"

"_Wait." _Lovino interrupted him, realization hitting him like a speeding car. "Your… Your brother. Does he look like he plays for the Bayern Munich? Tall, blonde, blue eyes? Twice everyone else's height?"

Gilbert beamed. "Yup, that's Ludwig. My little brother."

Lovino took the time to skim Gilbert up and down. Gilbert—with his black skinny jeans and pale everything—was scrawny, scrappy, scruffy, and looked like he belonged in an early 2000s emo band. Ludwig, the kid Feli _would not shut the fuck up about, _was the polar opposite; he was a tall, broad bastard with shoulders the breadth of a fucking four-wheeler and slicked-back hair the color of sun-bleached wheat. Like, the kid looked like he'd blazed through puberty while on steroids. Moreover, since Feli would just _not shut the fuck up about him, _Lovino knew that the boy was taking advanced math _and _engineering, so he was some sort of fucking genius, too. And he was a _freshman. _He was _fourteen years old. _And worse, he was _Gilbert's little brother. _

"Kinda hard to believe we're related, right?" Gilbert continued. "I mean, he's such a nerd and I'm hella cool."

"No cool person refers to themselves as _hella cool." _Lovino said through gritted teeth, but was already thinking of interrogating his brother for possibly falling for Gilbert Beilschmidt's little brother.

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**A/N: Please review!**


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